


Underneath

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Comfort/Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Derek, M/M, Same Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>anonymous asked:</p><p>Prompt for Sterek! Human college AU where Derek is socially awkward and has scars from the fire that he's self conscious about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath

Derek is a conundrum.

Okay, so maybe Stiles likes the word conundrum, but it really applies to his classmate.

The guy has all the assets to be the epitome of the playboy - no matter what gender you are - and yet, he keeps to himself and smiles shyly when you catch his eye.

A conundrum, wrapped up in a sculptural body - at least that’s Stiles’ judgement; he’s not going to let a few layers stop his imagination.

So, okay, he has never actually seen if thick veins run up Derek Hale’s arms, nor if his stomach is a living representation of a delicious chocolate bar.

But he knows that something delicious is hiding underneath all those henleys and hoodies and whatever-sies.

And Stiles just loves to crack a good mystery.

—-

 

Derek doesn’t try to bring any attention to himself.

Quite the contrary actually.

But he realizes that with his Hale green eyes and his stature, people look.

If only they could just … leave him alone, let him focus on his studies so he doesn’t have to think about what’s underneath it all (under his clothes or in his brain).

That doesn’t mean that he wants to spend his college years as an hermit.

Derek goes to some parties - the quiet ones, the ones that kid with the impossible first name throws every now and then : movies, beers, sometimes he cuts the sound and they all pitch in to make up the dialogue. It’s fun, it’s relaxed, and Derek can blend in the shadows.

Except that one night.

The guy - Stilinski, he thinks he heard someone calling him Stiles - seems to focus his dark eyes on Derek.

Derek has seen him focusing in class or in the library : to have such intense eyes on his person is befuddling.

He tries to leave, he really does, but Stiles starts talking with him about some subject they have been debating over in class and it’s too interesting to pass up.

So they talk and talk, and drink some more until Stiles stands up to make them a revigorating tea - that’s when Derek realizes that they’re alone in Stiles’ room.

As Stiles pours the water over the little metallic ball filled with tea leaves, Derek takes this opportunity to be the observer.

Every move seems to be a timed ballet, Stiles’ fingers dancing over the cloud that escapes from the mugs and twirling them like some ancient magician; his gaze is on the content of said mugs, probably checking the color to see if it’s infused properly, and a small crooked smile stretches his lips.

In Derek’s opinion, Stiles is a thing of quiet beauty when he stops moving and, let’s be honest, spazzing around.

Not that Derek is judging : he’s quite admirative of the way Stiles seems to have build a connection with their classmates, while Derek has remained the Brooding, Mysterious Hale.

Absolutely not his words - a fierce redhead who was slightly drunk called him like that on her way out.

Stiles puts the mugs in front of them and sits back on the couch - Derek knows for a fact that he deliberately sat closer than where he was before. Stiles’ fingers are one inch from Derek’s forearm on the back of the couch and Derek slides his arm back on the side of his body to avoid contact.

He knows what is drawn under the cotton of his shirt, and he will not inflect that on someone as lively and radiant as Stiles.

He drinks his tea, feeling a little bit hotter under the collar when Stiles licks his lips to keep a droplet from falling on his chest, and there is something in that tea that makes him even warmer.

"What did you put in that tea?" he asks with a frown and Stiles shrugs.

"Given that it’s 3AM, I … irished them a little," he says nonchalantly.

"Trying to get me drunk?" Derek jokes, but he swallows his chuckle when Stiles’ eyes darken in the soft light of the lamps.

"What if I am?"

Stiles’ voice has gone low, lower than Derek has ever heard and it sends shivers down his spine.

Good shivers. But dangerous ones.

"I - I’d better g-go," Derek says, swallowing the rest of his tea in one gulp before standing up as normally as he can.

"Wait!" Stiles calls, standing up after him and raising one hand as if trying to prove his innocence. "I didn’t mean that I was going to tie you up in the basement," he says and Goddammit if that image doesn’t sound a little appealing right now. "I wanted to let you know that I want … um, us, to go on a date - if you would like that. I mean, i know i’m out of my league, but better an honest no than living in a dream of possible yes, know what I mean?"

That stops Derek. Stiles doesn’t know that he’s at least in the same “league” as him? More like Stiles is on a league of his own, but —

What was that about a date?

"Neeeeever mind," Stiles says and Derek realizes that he has been silent for just a beat too long. "Let’s never talk about it, okay, i like you - obviously - and I’d like if we could stay fr-"

"I’d love to," Derek says, barely above a whisper.

"Stay friends?" Stiles asks and Derek can feel a blush creeping up his neck.

"A d-date."

The beaming smile on Stiles’ face lets him know that taking that step might be worth it.

——

He’s in trouble.

It’s been a couple of months since Derek Hale - Derek HALE - has accepted to go on a date with him, and Stiles is about to burst into a million little pieces.

From sexual frustration.

Derek is hot, Derek is cute, Derek is going to make his balls fall.

Stiles never said he was a poet.

Back to the subject of his boyfriend : something is up and Stiles is going to make him ‘fess up.

Every time things get … heated, Derek freezes.

No pun intended.

Just last night, Stiles only tried to slide his fingers under the two layers of t-shirts Derek wore and he can feel the bruise that is going to appear on his wrist from Derek’s grip of death that stopped him - that stopped the date, actually.

And it’s not like Derek doesn’t seem interested in taking things further - his own fingers are already acquainted with Stiles’ epiderm, and there are some things that make it quite certain that he finds Stiles …”up” to the task.

The thought that maybe Derek has body issues crossed Stiles’ mind, but he pushed it away veeery fast - come on.

It’s Derek.

Shy, adorable, perfect Derek, whose torso makes for a perfect pillow and whose arms stretch beautifully each and every of his shirts.

—-

He’s in trouble.

Derek can feel Stiles’ growing frustration, but his boyfriend isn’t pushing anything, or forcing him into something that would make him uncomfortable.

But he can feel it, Stiles’ erection brushing against his leg whenever things get heated between them - God bless those make-out sessions - and Derek tries, he really does, to tell himself that Stiles won’t run away because of a few scars.

All across his forearms and his chest.

And a little bit on his calves, oh God - he’s a freak, and Stiles is going to let him down gently, isn’t he, because that’s the kind of awesome guy Stiles is.

No - Derek is not going to run away from a chance of happiness ; how had Stiles put it, to ask him out ?

Better than an honest, real answer than a dream (or in his case) a nightmare of what could be ?

Well, he’s right. and Derek prefers to know where he stands.

So, that night, Derek takes Stiles to their favorite diner, where the napkin are checkered and the fries cheesy, the milkshakes milky and the waitresses snappy.

And he talks, more than he had ever talked to anybody.

And for once, Stiles doesn’t peep a word, not even a sound, simply offering his hand to clasp when Derek mentions the terrible fire that destroyed his family.

His hold tightens when Derek mentions the scars, slowly pushing his sleeve up his arm.

Stiles’ eyes follow the path of the fabric, and Derek’s eyes are on him, to see how he’ll react.

There is no change in Stiles’ features : as the sleeve uncovers the angry twist of the scar around his elbow, he barely twists his mouth, but his hold on Derek doesn’t change.

"Does it hurt?" he asks softly, as Derek covers his arm back.

"Sometimes," Derek says with a small shrug, "it feels like a … ghost pain?"

Stiles nods. “Yeah, I know those,” he simply says, and some day, Derek will learn about the ghost pain that inhabits the young man’s heart whenever he sees something that would have made hos mother laugh.

But for now, all of his focus is on his boyfriend. “Will you let me see?”

—-

Back in Stiles’ room, Derek feels torn.

Somewhere between taken care of and put on display.

He’s sitting on Stiles’ bed, a pillow behind his back to support him while Stiles is kneeling above him, slowly unbuttonning the last shirt he’s wearing.

His hoodie is on the floor, mixed with Stiles’ in one ball of soft clothing, and Stiles’ fingers are busy opening each button.

Stiles goes slowly, pressing a kiss to every inch revealed to the soft glow of his bedside lamp, and looking up every now and then to make sure that Derek is still okay with what he’s doing.

And then Stiles kisses and licks the edge of the scar that twirls around his belly button, and Derek feels like he actually kissed and licked his fucking cock instead. A low moan escapes him and Stiles looks up in alarm.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks but Derek rocks his hips up and the worry vanishes to let a very cocky smirk on Stiles’ face. "Oh," he simply says, looking way too happy for Derek’s taste. When Derek opens his eyes to glare at him - why did he stop, never stop - Stiles cocks his head to the side, his hands opening the shirt to leave Derek’s chest completely available for his eyes.

"Derek?"

"Hm?"

Derek is too emotional and aroused to say more than that questionning hum.

"You’re beautiful," Stiles says simply before launching himself at Derek, his hands resting on Derek’s hips while he captures his lips.

Aand as Stiles’ thumbs draw pattern on his hipbones, Derek lets himself melt in the embrace.


End file.
